


U & Me

by sloganeer



Series: kaná:ta' still means "town" in Mohawk [2]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Canon Canadian Character, Canon Queer Character, Future Fic, Husbands, M/M, Post-Canon, Rose Apothecary (Schitt's Creek)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:34:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23451772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sloganeer/pseuds/sloganeer
Summary: Patrick’s delightful half-American, half-Canadian husband forgot to spell “colour” with a U.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: kaná:ta' still means "town" in Mohawk [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686322
Comments: 14
Kudos: 148





	U & Me

After enough years on a team, one learned how to play every position. Perhaps not as well as the specialists, but each player picked up the skills to pinch hit when they were needed.

Patrick felt confident enough to answer questions at the printers without bothering David for approval, and David had done enough bank runs to get comfortable with the paperwork. But they still had their roles, and the business ran better when Patrick and David stayed out of each other’s way. That became a lot easier once they hired a few people to run the store, mostly kids back in their parents’s houses after college, waiting on their next move.

With Kath and Joel out front, Patrick was getting some work done at his desk in the back room. It was Patrick’s desk because it was too short for David’s knees, but that was OK because Patrick lived for those moments when David wandered through the shop and perched on the edge, leaning over to kiss Patrick’s cheek. His husband was at home today—his day off—and probably hanging the laundry out because it was a gorgeous sunny day.

Patrick was editing the copy David had written earlier that week—descriptions for a few new products they were putting online, as well as a first draft of their monthly newsletter. They took turns writing that; David said it was important their customers got to know them both, but he was just so much better at that kind of writing than Patrick. Usually, Patrick leaned heavily on sharing interesting links and songs he had been listening to recently. David’s newsletters read like a penpal letter from your long-distance best friend.

Except for his spelling. Except for how Patrick’s delightful half-American, half-Canadian husband forgot to spell “colour” with a U.

David would say he didn’t forget, but Patrick was the editor today. He grew up with Canadian English that leaned towards British English, and that was how he continued to write.

“All your rules are made up,” David had explained. Patrick didn’t disagree. But rules made Patrick feel better, especially when he could hold them over his husband’s head and watch David’s face scrunch up with annoyance.

It was a side of being in a relationship that had never made sense to Patrick before, with Rachel. Seeing her frustration led to him feeling small, bruised, desperate to make it right—never knowing what was exactly wrong. But it doesn’t feel that way with David. It never really did, and now that they were settled down in their house, in their marriage, Patrick understood his husband all the more.

He knew how to rile him up, watch him spin, and the precise moment to offer his hand so David never hit the floor. It’s dancing.

Caught up in his daydream and the words, Patrick missed the bell above the front door and the sound of David greeting their staff. He only noticed his husband once David dropped the lunch basket on the corner of the desk and slid his hands over Patrick’s shoulders.

“Ready to eat?” David asked. He pressed his face against Patrick’s neck, leaving three kisses in the same spot before standing up again. “I made egg salad, and I really need you to tell me if it’s good or not because, honestly, I can’t tell.”

“Yeah, I’m just going over your newsletter.” Patrick reached up to grab hold of David’s ringed hand; it’s his favourite body part to kiss. “Your spelling is travelling across the border again,” he said, casually, looking up to watch David’s contortions.

“OK, I didn’t know I had married an imperialist. Our shop has an international presence, you know!”

Patrick took both of David’s hands in his own, pulling him down to wrap David’s arms around his body. He was trying to calm David down, but the hug was a nice bonus. They tried to kiss between laughter and the chair with wheels, so before they both fell on the floor, Patrick grabbed hold, twisted, turned until David was in his lap. 

“That’s better,” he said, but David said ‘nope’ with his whole body and slapped Patrick’s hands away as they headed back to the keyboard. “David!”

“Don’t ‘David’ me.” He moved the monitor so he could read the screen and type with the keyboard on his lap. “I’m deleting all of your ‘U’s, and once this email is sent, then I’ll decide if you’re allowed to eat lunch with me.”

Patrick muffled his laugh against David’s shoulder, careful not to get the mohair in his mouth. He held his husband tightly around his waist. Patrick watched David undo all of his work from this morning. 

“Truce?” he asked. 

“Maybe,” David answered, letting Patrick turn him for a quick kiss. “If the United States can forgive you for burning down their White House—“

“I wasn’t aware we were forgiven,” Patrick said. 

“It’s remarkable what you can make an American do when you offer them a butter tart.”


End file.
